Beautiful Feet
Another Place I Write, and Why
Most of you know me through Echoes of Liberty.
You know the part of me that worries about this country, argues about power and the uses people put it to, and gets angry enough at the morning news to start writing before the coffee is finished.
There is something else I have been doing quietly, almost every week, for the better part of a year.
Beautiful Feet.
Every week I go looking for one true story — usually a small one, often an old one — about somebody who did something decent when nothing obliged them to.
A coal-heaver in a Manchester rail yard who lost his father’s watch in a mountain of soot.
A pilot who dropped candy out of a bomber.
A man who ended up with two hundred Klan robes in his closet, every one of them handed over by someone he had talked out of hating him.
They are not political. That is rather the point.
I write Echoes because I am worried. I write Beautiful Feet because worry is not the whole of what is true. The same week I am reading a budget that tells on itself, I am also reading about a shepherd who would not come down off a pass, and a bench that never moved. Both of those are the world.
If you have ever finished one of the harder essays here and wanted something to set against it, that is what Beautiful Feet is for.
It is free, it is short, and it arrives about once a week.
BEAUTIFUL FEET — Walking out hope in a weary world.
